CreepyPasta Character Stories

The Cat Hunter

Sweat trickles down my forehead; I don't bother to wipe it away, and my eyes sting from staring at the monitor screen for far too long. The office room I had rented for the short amount of time I'm living in this city was cluttered, and the mess almost filled to the maximum capacity of the room--files and recording tapes everywhere. Stacks of loose paper and documents threatened to topple and create more disarray in the ridiculously small room. But my busy mind was focused on the bright screen: watching, recording, and analyzing the data as I scroll down. Homicide recordings and death rates were unusually high in this particular area of the country, and I am sure I wasn't the only newspaper reporter who noticed the spiking percentage of murder. Finally, I lean back in my office chair as I looked at a blurry photo of a man, supposedly taken by the victim at the crime scene. Or if it the subject in the photo was even human at all.

Lately, I've begun to notice a trend among the photos of the murderers, or at least among the ones I could manage to gather. They were always blurry, and most had traces of static or were distorted to a certain degree, but surprisingly, the photo I had in front of me was probably the clearest out of all the photos I had. The thing in the picture wore a long brown trench coat, and bloody claws could be seen peeping out from the sleeves of the coat. The mask was deeply terrifying though, and at first glance, I couldn't tell what it was, because of the amount of splattered blood. But when I focused my vision, I could see the mask was very cat-like, only so grotesque, it looked like a monster. Many of the killers in my photos had masks as well, some that were very simple, however, I remember one that was so startling, I swore the mask was the killer's real face. One more common trend I noticed among some of these murderers, or at least what I thought I could see from these photos, was a circle that has been crossed out. Of course, when I tried to research the symbol, very few information appeared, and the information that I did find was not helpful.

At first, I was so busy focusing on the photo in front of me, that I didn't notice a ringing noise in the dim office room. The annoying sound eventually penetrated my mind, and it appeared to come from my cell phone. I fumbled with the phone a little before I picked it up properly.

"Hello, Steven Terri of the Daily Herald here, how may I help you?" My voice was very dry, probably because I had forgotten to eat or drink for the past few hours, and I held in a yawn as the voice on the other side of the phone mumbled for a little bit before speaking.

"Uh, hello, sir? Mr. Terri? Well, you're a newspaper reporter, right?" It was a woman on the other end of the line, who sounded very stressed and agitated. I sighed, and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Yes, I am, how may I help you?" I irritably repeated my question, and yet again I held in another yawn. "Mr. Terri, I think I have some information to help you, you know, with all the murders--"

"The murders, you say?" A tingle of excitement shot up my spine, and I sat up. "Come meet me here in the office of the Daily Herald--by today preferably, do you need the address?" The woman mumbled a little more, but she cleared her throat. "No, I know where the office of the Daily Herald is; I'm staying in a motel not too far from there. I think I can visit you in fifteen minutes or so. I just called now if anyone was here now, since it was a holiday..." I cleared my own throat and I stood up, stretching my limbs. "Well ma'am, it's only me and the editors here in the office, but thank you so much for calling, I didn't catch your--" I stopped myself, because I heard her hang up.

I never even learned the woman's name, but it was no matter now. She had information, hopefully, or at least a clue of sorts as to where these killers were, or better yet, why they were killing innocent members of the populace.

The woman arrived sooner than I expected to the office, and I met her right at the door. Now that I can see the woman face to face, I could see that she was very pretty, but her orange hair was disheveled, and worry was in her blue eyes, making it appear darker than it was. She was always looking over her shoulder, worried as if something would catch her at any moment. Her eyes widened when I held out a hand for her to shake--I guess I looked just as tired and worn myself. She tenderly shook my hand, but made no move to speak, so I spoke for her. "So, uh, what's your name?" She blinked once, twice. "Paulina. My name is Paulina." I noticed she didn't say her last name, so I brought that up.